While we would like to understand why we each have an innate ability to organically/intuitively understand our individual path to growth, it is not a spiritual question that can be answered — the magic really is this simple. It is a natural human desire to want to know everything and have it all explained so that we never have to take that leap of faith into something that we know excites us but also simultaneously tickles our fear as well. This is the nature of passion and looking into the fullest potential of the universe. We are each oracles for our own destiny, but it is less linear than traditional Western Math/Science training brain would prefer us to behave.

As we approach a deck of cards designed for opening up our minds to remember the limitless nature of the cosmos, so can we open up our minds to the limitless natures of our own minds — and therefore destinies. Not from a desire to eradicate all emotion or potential suffering — as all decks of cards intended for magical consumption contain the spectrum of ups and downs as a part of the natural rhythms of life — more so as a means to remind ourselves that dreams are real and possible for us. We will be feeling all of the things no matter what, we might as well allow ourselves the option of doing what actually excites us; since the suffering will always suck, but will feel more worth it if we are simultaneously doing that which we love.

The reason for the fear begins to make more sense when we realize the magnitude of operating inside of chaos. And the ease come the more we allow ourselves to play and pick one card or 6, and sitting with what it brings up inside without attempting to judge it too harshly. Perhaps we feel worried when we realize we have to actually let go, as doing so is a lot harder then we wanted to accept based on an illusion presented by the media; however, each time we are confronted by this challenge we get a little more comfortable with acknowledging this awkwardness inside of ourselves.

Such is the TRAIL OF THE UNIVERSE; always practicing getting better at hearing that small voice inside that just seems to know without question which way to go, when we allow ourselves to trust and embrace all of the selves that we hold inside of us — re-creating our own reality through the lens of ourselves. It is a re-framing to allow ourselves to see from our own perspective — to remember that this is all we can do in this life. By allowing ourselves to experience all of the aspects of being alive, we allow ourselves compassionate awareness for all beings. As Tarot does encompass the human condition, by being human and living fully we cannot help but understand it by our very nature.

“Learning to read the Tarot is essentially a gateway to your intuition. Humans have a deep (while often buried) relationship with archetypes, and when we begin to work with archetypes through the Tarot, we begin to learn the language of the subconscious and tap our intuition more fully.” -Amalia Scott @thehareandthemoon

The myth exists in the communities that want to pretend like they are more ‘in the know’ than others. There have been people trying to sell us what we already know since the beginning of time. There is no harm in teaching and healing each other openly. We won’t run out of a need for healers because healers need healers. So, it is time to awaken the healer in all of us by assisting in unlocking that inner door to intuition and inner knowing. The truth is: there is no wrong or right way to read the cards and no matter how many cards you pull you will be seeing into a mirror of the energy that you have already been feeling or sensing in your life. The cards are validators of your reality and that is the magic that can’t be explained; the simple truth: magic is everywhere when you are willing to see it.

I learned through a burlesque dancer mama friend about a naked photo shoot in Oakland. So, you know, I was immediately intrigued. Having just given birth to a baby a few months earlier, it felt only right to prove to myself that I was able to still be courageous even after having undergone such an intense spiritual transformation.

I knew that I had changed, but I wanted to feel that change in action.

I showed up early as I often do when I am obsessed with the outcome of something. My curiosity was keeping me from being able to do anything else. Plus, traveling longer distanced was a new unknown for me with a babes and the drive to Oakland was almost three hours. I waited outside nursing and then called the artist’s number to see if I could get let in. She was in the middle of wrapping up the morning shoot, so I waited outside and took my own selfie to prove that I had actually gone.

She opened the door and I walked into an abandoned storefront and kept following her back into an artist warehouse living space that sprawled out in its bigness and skylit brilliance. There were huge plants coming down from the ceiling and an intrigue to the air. Another place to challenge my idea of the cool club and whether or not I fit inside of a world of artists and radicals. Still feeling, like always, not cool enough, but breathing through my own inevitable awkwardness.

Anastasia went back to wrapping up her first shoot with a radical older woman with a walker who was talking about not feeling like a strong woman as she spoke in vibrant tones and stretched her arms out in vigorous salute to the world. It was just the proof that I needed that my own kind of vulnerability came out in words of honesty as my actions belied a soul power I was scared to admit to myself.

An underground collective of authentic souls.

They talked in front of me as they were leaving, encouraging me towards my upcoming photo shoot that still felt that sparkly newness of mystery and admired my newborn babe.

The beginning of our time began with a conversation over gluten free banana pancakes and a sweetened condensed milk coffee. Anastasia was surprised that I didn’t know much about the shoot before signing up for it, besides liking the idea of photos with nothing but light and humans of all kinds looking all courageous in their naked bodies.

Soon, I learned that the nature of the shoot was to talk honestly about trauma and my soul lit up. Maybe to the detriment of my understanding is that when I see something beautiful, I am not always able to recognize it as a reflection of my own beauty. I wasn’t also ready to all the way know how to navigate having a baby in any kind of social space.

I felt comfortable getting naked, but talking about the complications of giving birth and being a mom still held my introspective captivation and it was hard to fully form what it meant.

I wanted to curl up.

At one point she asked if I felt uncomfortable and I had to say that, of course I did, but that I know that outside of our comfort zone is where magic happens.

I was also obsessed with looking at my baby and felt myself wanting to hide behind her, not knowing how to feel about my new role as the one that holds space for bright light. Not knowing how to sit up straight like a queen as my baby poops and pees all over me in front of company.

The photographer was understanding as everyone seems to be, but digesting that discomfort came to show me that the role of being vulnerable and courageous is complicated by the protective feeling of being around a new being and feeling like a new being myself.

I was honored to be challenged to look up and meet the photographer’s gaze, to have the opportunity to breathe through my own discomfort and have the space to be seen and tell my story.

It was such a mystical joyride of feelings that, like any good piece of work, challenges our own ability to change and grow.

Since talking about our own trauma is how we heal and transform it for our own growth and identity. It was crucial for me to begin to see how much I needed to work through my own birth trauma, especially so close to experiencing actually giving birth.

I am grateful for life continuing to present me with opportunities to challenge my sense of self. We construct ideas of who we think we are: strong, weak, ugly, beautiful, courageous, shy, and daring; and then, the universe allows us to see that being truly vulnerable can never be an experience you can control if you are truly letting yourself go and surrendering to the moment.

Talking about our trauma allows us to actually see that our experience of it is constantly changing; and, thank goodness there are creative people coming up with new ways to hold space for honest discussion, so that we can see each other differently and open back up to the light.

Check out this work:

Nothing but light

Love,

Hodee

P.s.

At the end she held the babes as the babes just stared up at the skylight. Perfect.

It is the beginning of our thrilling adventure and my mind is stuck back home, caring more about these people then they will ever know. I pull the dragonfly card in reverse, revealing that I am trapped in an old illusion that is no longer serving me, needing to trust the magic spot deep down inside of me. I also need to accept that everything has changed.

We are in a different reality. We are no longer tied into falsehood. Everything is only love.

Merlebird wants to practice changing the car tire because she has never done it in her life as a 48-year-old woman in the United States. I am drinking moon water and attempting to write down some semblance of a story, but I feel more full of shit than I have ever felt in my life. I have lost the connection to divinity that I had learned to trust. My mystical powers are all being used up to process all of this karma that I am downloading from having this new soul inside me. I have to trust the new downloads.

I have to accept that I am not a miner, that I just enjoy going on wild trips with Merlebird because we are both hobo divas. We like being in nature but also like health foods. I can imagine Merle’s life unfolding, her just getting dirtier and dirtier then coming around to my cleaned up version of baby land and reminding me of what we could have been. I can’t live in this way. It isn’t healthy to be constantly judging my life choices and assuming the worst.

My worrying habit has gotten the best of me and now seems like the time to let that go and just enjoy where we are, walking around searching for crystals and good land to buy to have an outdoor school.

I love her dreams. I want to support them and by being here along for the journey, I am simultaneously connecting to my own source of magic. I am getting to remember that anything is possible, that I have lived off of credit cards for most of my life and yeah, I might be a broke ass bitch, but ultimately I am doing fine, real nice just living my life.

The space is good for me to reconnect back to the source, to check in with my guide, reminding me that I haven’t been goofy enough. Yes, change is weird and it is strange coming back to the impermanence principle, accepting that the change has happened and Hello! Deal with it! But what about what we had? Yeah, well that’s over now.

I can go back with this new flow, accept that I am on a different work schedule, that I slowly said good-bye to all of those shmoes, and they might be real or fake or whatever you wanna call it and they might get super famous, but it doesn’t really matter because I am always just myself living my own little life, acknowledging whatever connection seems to drift my way.

“Thank you for your participation. I couldn’t have done it without you” she says, because I actually helped change the tire. Teamwork really does make the dreamwork. You think about doing it by yourself and it sounds exhausting but then you include another soul in the endeavor and it feels more possible.

“Indifference has no energy or life in it. A wizard’s love is incredibly alive and flows with the energy of the cosmos. For that to happen you must be like an empty vessel. Mortals are so full of ego that there’s room for nothing else. A wizard is completely empty; therefore the universe can fill him with love.” -Deepak Chopra

The thing is, I like the mortal shit, the ego trip, being a baby bitch. It’s hard to imagine a life where I love even my enemies all the way through and forgive them for all that pain because I have let go of all attachment to that story. When you are surrounded by baby games it’s hard not to want to participate. My ego wants you to know who you’re fucking with, it is scary to admit that I am nothing.

Love,

Hodee

If you are having a baby, you will most likely have to remind everybody around you that they are also giving birth to themselves. People don’t like to think that anyone else is having a harder time than them, or maybe this is just the case when you are an empath and you are surrounded by narcissists that have now turned you into a narcissist. And maybe you are beginning to wonder about the narcissist to empath spectrum. It’s kind of like the crazy to beautiful spectrum. This is why I want to be ugly, but people keep telling me that I am beautiful. Are they lying?

We are all beautiful in our own way and it ultimately doesn’t matter cause there is no definitive answer to that question. What matters more is how you feel inside.

Dear Self,

I’m playing out the roles I need to play out.

I am doing an okay job.

I keep making mistakes because the unseen is different than the seen. These two worlds are operating together simultaneously. A world that I can see and a world that I can’t see. When I hear about mermaids it makes me think that I am doing good work, because the depth of the beauty is reflected in the sparkle that can only come from living in the ocean. I am crying my beautiful tears because that is how we heal. Tears are just normal now. Can we normalize them now? My magic power is that I just keep crying forever and I am a drama queen so just stop it already.

Shake it down to the ground. Shake it out. Shake the devil off your back. It is a constant state of arrival and it is always harder than we want to accept cause we want an excuse to stop; but, you are not imagining anything. This is crazy. Your feelings are valid, everything is challenging because it helps us grow stronger. If you’re not shaking then you’re not growing, that is how we get rid of the weakness.

We need to remember not to stress ourselves out, to raise our eyebrows and smile, to remember that everything happens as it needs to even though it is easy to get caught up in fear over the future. Every day and in every way we are getting stronger and stronger. I love you so much / please let go of the past and stop posting on social media as much. It just makes you resentful to do so much energy work for free. You deserve to get paid for the work that you are doing. You are a bad ass bitch every day and you are safe and loved. You are held by spirit and the universe. You are doing the best that you can. You are love and your mind is getting in the way.

Love,

Self

The shit that comes up when you are pregnant is intense and the only one that can really feel it is you. Such a strange reality to be in charge of all of the parts of your life in an even more intense way. All of the things about the father that felt endearing become highly intense to understand. And all of the parts of yourself that were previously just cute affectations become pesky awareness of your own inadequacy. Oh well.

Give it up to Mother Earth. I think too much. Just trash up the planet cause it’s trash anyway. Use the A/C. Eat sugar bombs. It doesn’t actually matter! Trash magic is an acceptance of all of these sides of ourselves that we’d prefer to keep hidden in the dark. The parts that still exist that we do in private — off social media — when we feel anonymous.

And the people that work at these fast food shops and trash markets become the ushers of our shame, who we ironically can be somehow more ourselves with their presence. We can talk shit. We can be uncomfortable with how ugly we look that day. These are actually nonjudgemental spaces where we are allowed to be free.

Are we somehow not allowed to be free usually?

I don’t know, but growing up with hippie rules gave me a hyper awareness of right and wrong that has now turned into neuroses and snobbiness where I act like I somehow know better cause I was taught that I was being raised better.

What I’m realizing is that there are real people in any identity group and that we are all struggling to understand the irony of wanting to save the planet so altruistically in the news and then destroying it in our daily actions. Walking through hypocrisy throughout your entire life makes it hard to believe in all of the bull shit. I am constantly on the verge of going too far, appearing like the enemy who we have all learned to hate as evil. Evil is live backwards, after all.

Evil is unconscious. And no matter how much you preach meditation and being present, you’re a liar if you don’t admit some amount of unconscious waking life. This is the reality of the world we live in. Check the box: You have a cell phone. You have a car; internet; television; drugs of any kind; not to mention just being surrounded by the technology that infiltrates our bodies and minds. Even if you live in the middle of the forest, you are still being effected. The whole world has gone mad and we are all participating in it simply by being alive. And so, I say, live it up while you still can.

Live in shameless freedom and take space from the people who have hurt you. Feel good about the life you live. Feel the people around you, let’s hope they feel positive to your soul. Make do with less. Use the trash you own for good purposes. Live from inside of your own mess and allow yourself to ride the waves. It is the same as it ever was, a bunch of dysfunctional people bumbling around the planet like dildos.

A client said to me, “Why is everyone so crazy?” and I had to say, “I don’t know. I guess we just have to sit back and enjoy the show.” and he starts laughing, “Exactly!” Everyone is an inherently good person living in fear of admitting their truth since some aspect of their truth could be judged by someone else as wrong. Everyone is scared that their google search history could be suddenly revealed at any time and they will be found out as a creepy neurotic pervert. And the ones that act like monsters are really just admitting that they have darkness and getting space from all of the spiritual predators acting as though they are somehow always living in the light.

Is darkness not a part of light? Can we have one without the other? How long can we survive in a holier than thou place?

It’s no wonder that we’ve turned to pop stars as our idols because all of their trash gets put on the table and so they show us that going crazy is normal; so, we feel less alone in the process.

Maybe I am just making excuses for going all of the way to trash town; fully immersing myself in a ghetto fabulous world so that I can be freely myself Maybe I am hiding behind a world that I control; a big fish in a small pond, scared to jump back into the big leagues.

After getting comfortable it is hard to want to get back into the race. I have already allowed myself to get lost down the rabbit hole of the freak vortex. I have found new tribe and I have realized that I am surrounded by a network of love and support. And now I wrestle with the choice to take myself out of this luxury and mix it back up in the cities where people have fewer luxuries to make such lofty decisions because they are living in Trash Island Proper.

So many years of being a waitress has taught me how to survive anything and anyone. I have learned that I can do anything and yet everything takes its time to recognize your flavor. Be patient.

Love,

Hobo Diva

It was easy to let her shoulders shlump in the expectation of more weight and walking in the endless foreseeable future. Her typewriter weighed heavily to one side and it was hard not to give in to that temptation, to lean a little more and more to that one side.

She pulled at her reserves, tightening her stomache and straightening her back. The cold still biting at her fingers, “Should I pull out my gloves?” she thought to herself, “Fuck it.” and plus, she had already eaten oatmeal so there was no hunger driving her to stay at a coffee shop to spend her money so frivolously on delicacies like pecan sticky buns and fancy lattes.

“Straighten your back. Breathe.” these reminders were crucial no matter her circumstances. There was no excuse for forgetting herself.

The sun pierced through the veil and somehow certainty shook its way in. You never know until you know and sometimes it takes minutes and sometimes it takes days to hit on something that sticks somewhere deeper in your mind; a glowing reminder of what it means to be excited about something again after sleeping for so long.

A movie had reminded her that she had to stop waiting for some not quite glimpse-able and fantastical future that was better then her current reality; heartbreak making us leap into ridiculous fantasies to escape the pain of dealing with our current sorrow; the feelings that come out of nowhere no matter where we seem to be.

The sun lit up the concrete parking lot on the corner of an interesection of motion and the art studio that it supported was closed. She set her bag down, opened up her typewriter and sat in front of it, opening up her zipper on her fanny pack as well and pulling out some blue index cards, “Wow, it has been a while,” she thought, “I didn’t realize that this was what I need to do, that this was what was pulling me out of the house so early in the morning.”

She had walked out without saying good-bye. She had been sure of herself, sure of her steps, sure of the need to fulfill her own fantasies again and always.

Jean Grae filtered through her earbuds reminding her, “You got to get to now yourself, travel a little bit…” and she smiled inside because she was typing poetry on the street in her own hometown and she didn’t feel self-conscious about it anymore. It felt natural, like something she had always known was okay to do. She had followed her urges and instincts and pushed herself to get through the awkwardness of showcasing these hobbies in public; showcasing to the world her need for perverse pleasures outside of the norm; outside of the socially acceptable; outside of the structure of society.

But really it was more about her own voice inside of her head that had always called her weird for needing to type on a typewriter instead of just using a computer inside of a house; never moving; never roaming; never instinctually setting up in random spots around the city.

The poems came out and they were sparkly reminders that she had always known the truth; that love existed everywhere around her; that now was her time to do whatever she wanted and to accept where and who she actually was.

“I want a poem,” they said, but she couldn’t quite hear if that was what she had heard, sometimes people just wanted to comment on the antiquated nature of the technology; maybe too shy to admit their fascination or desire to know something deeper than casual commentary about the world moving so fast these days and jokes like, “Can you get spell check on that thing?” She pulled an earbud out and looked up at them, “Yeah?”

“Do you want to write a poem?” they asked in earnest.

“Yeah!” and she pulled more blue index cards out of her fanny pack, “Can you give me a word of inspiration?” and she hesitated, not sure if they had heard her, “Do you have a word or phrase?”

“I’m thinking,” they mused, hand to chin like proof of this truth.

She smiled down to her typewriter as they said, “Sleeping.”

“Cool!” she said and leaned down to wind the index card into position.

She wrote:

“Dreams cascade over my

memory banks,

making use of all of this

unconscious materials

made up of

everything I have ever

experienced

from any given direction.

Daydreams

wrapped up with misunderstandings

and desires

that make space for

future wantings.

Swirling in and out

to show me

my own potential,

my own desire to wait

for eternity

for what I might never

actually enjoy

were I to experience it

in my physical body.

Simultaneous dimensions

inside my infinite mind.”

“Wow,” they said, “Thanks so much.”

It is in these moments that she remembers herself. her potential and also her needs. Connecting across the cosmos, in the universe and coming back to Earth with a sparkle in her step. One person. One poem. That is enough to sustain her for the rest of the day.

When I was 14 I had my first “boyfriend.” My first boyfriend was technically a guy named D. I was hanging out with my slutty friends that I judged for being sexual back then. Now I think it is cool to be sexual, maybe because I have had sex with so many people, I don’t know. Anyway, I was trying to go home on Halloween my Freshman year by checking my watch and saying it was 9 o’clock. I was scared of hanging out with these boys and I probably should have just gone home alone. That’s my problem. I don’t listen to my intuition when it comes to walking away from people. Maybe that’s why when I am high, I end up running away from everyone all of the time.

(This letter is my proof of why I don’t want to hang out with you for fear of how intimate I’ll get with everything that I want to tell you but that it doesn’t make sense that you would want to know. I am scared to let you in because why would you want to get to know me? Maybe you want to have sex with me because bodies are fun to fuck, but fucking with my mind? That is something else entirely. It is fun to imagine you in my fantasies and then to act weird around you in real life because I have been thinking about you so much when you’re not around.)

They didn’t want to believe me when I said it was already 9 o’clock; they reached for some other random passersby to double check and then we walked to the light rail station after they chided me for lying. We “smoked weed” at the light rail station, but I didn’t really want to but they gave me shit about that too. I always wanted to prove that I wasn’t a goody-goody, but it was flavored weed so in retrospect I can never say for sure if it was weed or something else random. I felt weird about smoking and hanging out with these random skater boys. We walked from the light rail station to the alley where the slutty friends were making out with two of the boys and in the midst of the make out called out to the other boys that I had never been kissed. At this point I had been walking alone ahead of everyone dressed in my alien Halloween costume. One of the boys that had been making out with one of my friends walked up to stand next to me and slip his arm around my waist. We made it to a spot in the alley and he walks up to me under the light and his tongue is coming at my face. I keep backing away until I am pushed against a fence in this mound of ivy and then we are just making out.

It was terrible.

I felt weird and uncomfortable and I didn’t know what to do. I guess I just wanted to please him. So, I kept going or maybe it feels good on a carnal level to mash your mouth against some else, to be wanted, to be touched, to be seen as “beautiful?” The sluts and I walked home after all of the aking out and I said, “He kissed me with his tongue! We French kissed!” and they said, “That’s just kissing!”

Like, duh, idiot.

The next day I was swinging on a swing talking about it with my other friend, C, at the park across the street from my house. I remember that I had this Buzz Lightyear watch adn I had put the watch through the chain link of the swink while I was talking and then I looked up and I saw him. D.

I freaked out and I ran into the community center building that was right there and went into the bathroom in flash and ran to the last stall, locked myself in, and crouched on the floor the furthest I could get away from the door. He didn’t dare come in the ladies room. He sent my friends in as emmissaries to convince me to come out. Why someone would want a person that had just run away from them full tilt, is a whole different story.

This was the beginning of my hell. The hell being boys. Sex. Hating myself.

I kept making out with him because he waited for me outside of the building, but I had my friends break up with him on the phone a few weeks later because I had never wanted it in the first place. It was classic peer pressure and nonconsensual in my head but I didn’t let the cat out of the bed because I was embarrassed that I didn’t feel ready for sex.

Then I got into an actual relationship that was longer then 2 weeks with A. It started because I just really wanted to hang out with him. I would walk him home even though it was way out of my way and I would do it almost every day. The conversation was always so fascinating. Then he told me he liked me after weeks and we kissed and my shoes untied, but I walked home without ever tying them to be dramatic and because I wanted to believe that this was what true love felt like. Whatever that means. He went his way and I went mine after that kiss. Eventually he told me he wanted to have sex and I said I wasn’t ready and he said, “What’s the point of us being together if we don’t have sex?” and so we had already been sneaking out to meet in the basement of his dad’s church, so I let him try to stick his dick insode of me. One time his dad came downstair in the midst of our awkward fumblings and I had to hide. One time we smoked pot and he started freaking out rocking back and forth on the stairs crying and I tried to make him feel better even though I wanted to run away.

I guess I am starting to realize why we might never be able to hang out, why I need a million years of lonely nights because I am all torn up inside and that you are just a person that I don’t even know. This is insane.

You are in my life as a teaching tool to help me realize that it doesn’t matter if a man that I feel attracted to is interested in me. What matters if if I respect myself enough to acknowledge that you are clearly not interested in hanging out with me or getting to know me at a deeper level and so I have been using all of this creative energy to obsess over you just to remember that I still have a vagina and that maybe I have standards and that maybe I am desiring sex and so I have been putting you in a weird space in my mind.

I can’t apologize anymore.

I guess I just feel traumatized by men’s behavior and I don’t know how to let it go and I don’t know when I’ll be ready for anything without crying.

Today, I was feeding a woman who can’t feed herself. She said, “I’ve been through hell and back.” It really surprised me to have her be so honest with me. She said she almost died when she was 4, that she was in a coma for 3 months. I said, “That must have been really scary for your parents.” She said, “It was hardest on my mom.”

She said she left her body and talked to god. God said, “It’s not your time yet. You have to go back into your body.”

I am crying as I run to the bathroom and thinking about you and how I want to talk to you, how I need to hang out with you, how I want to tell you about her and how awesome she is and how beautiful it is that she told me her story. It came out of nowhere. It was so powerful and it was inbetween bites of sweet potato pumpkin pie that she participated in making. She said she collects cabbage patch dolls and they fill up the end of her bed and she still has the ones from when she was little. I keep thinking about how we are both special. I keep thinking about how we might understand each other if I could just trust it.

I don’t know how to trust anything.

And once I start writing you this letter that I will never send, I think about how this is how I get sucked into shit shows; my obsessive mind thinks about a person all of the time.

You are a lesson for me just like every other guy I have ever known and fallen in love with. I don’t know what to fucking do! I wanted to run away because I felt your anger, but it was probably just my own. This is the disease because I want a baby. But that will never happen like this.

I keep thinking I have found my chill zone and then something brings up emotions and I think that I can use my body to get me a man. I mean, somebody has to eat me, right?

I have to be wanted in order to be valuable?

Or we actually have a legitimate connection?

Either way, this fucking sucks! If you like me, that sucks. If you don’t like me and are just going to be a dick nugget, that sucks. But more than anything, the fact that I feel myself caring so much about you and feeling lost inside of that feeling because it is living inside of nothingness, that sucks the most.

I used to be obsessed over my ex and how he was dying and how I couldn’t save him and how he just fucked me because he was addicted to sex and not because he actually loved my pussy or worshipped women. The fact was that he heard feminist rhetoric from his older sister and then used that to get into my pants and I thought I had found a good one. I know because real love never dies and ass holes never die either. They just keep doing the same dick moves no matter how ong it has been since you fucked them. And you have to say good-bye forever.

Part of me doesn’t want to get to know you more for fear of what I will do to myself as a result of needing or desiring your attention. So, I think I figured it out. This can never work. You are not enough for me or anybody. I have to be enough for myself and maybe if we are still knowing each other one day we will hang out and be friends, after I let go of all of these fantasies that you are my soul mate brother that I have been searching for inside of my soul, that the hugs are sincere, that the love is real, that we could wrestle and that would be chill.

I just think that it takes too long to get to know people and I am annoyed by this letter and needing to write it, but I might need to write another one. I just want to lay next to you without touching, but that would be too much. It has been a long time since I have had a crush on somebody and I am doing this all wrong.

It is important to have mystery and to let it happen. But even me saying that is presumptuous to future spaces and I feel bad for putting that shit onto anything. You are just a human and you are just doing your own thing and I need to stop. Thank you, life.

Sincerely,

a love addict

I made it to the Chico Zine Fest to find a whole bunch of cute things surrounding cuter people. I am not at all intimidated by cuteness anymore, especially as I come in dressed like a pregnant ho. We’re all whores and I am dealing with some bigger issues inside of myself already. On the way here I felt little movements in my belly and a feeling of calm wonderment at how I am pushing myself to continue going on this road of radical courage. It is okay not to know though because I am taking each step as it comes.

I don’t need to know, just to be and recognize the Divine symmetry of embarking into the unknown yet again.

The talking about it is one thing and then the experiencing of it is another. Like, I am crazy, but really I’m just down to get lost in social interaction — down to chase a feeling.

This is how I have always been. It is just me going on hero’s journey after hero’s journey — waking up and struggling to imagine making it through — choosing an outfit that makes me feel like anything is possible — and then getting up anyway. The power of choice; the belief in right now; the sharing of information amongst secret compadres of righteousness and truth. I don’t know why I show up, but I sit in the uncertainty and the right people come to me.

They see my typewriter; they ask consent before taking a picture; they offer me tuna salad sandwiches in the middle of nowhere. It is truly spectacular to realize that that people are phenomenal and that we each have the capabilities to help each other in the midst of complete uncertainty and darkness.

In fact, right now it is the shadow that I want to elevate: the behind the scenes forces, the itty-bitty glimpses of people that deliver our produce or make our meals, and the ones who take the pictures of our magnanimous selves — the ones who spread the love without asking for much in return.

The roots of nobility lie in trusting that it will all come as it needs to and that cheering each other on is critical even when we are doubting our worth at the most critical junctures of our own development. The word has to be spread by those who feel the least likely to assume the role — the ones who are most unsure about taking up that space. The fact that you are willing to admit that you don’t know gives you the freedom to do the task in a new and different way.

We need new voices. We need unheard stories. We need for the shadows to come forward and be seen so that people can recognize how much beautiful work is being done on a daily basis.

There has become a new surge of radical paparazzi that continues to bring alternative culture to the light and it has been working in baby steps.

To truly be in love with this moment means to love it for everything that it is: boring and mundane while simultaneously fantastical and mysterious. My friend reminded me of the three pillars of sustenance to feed a soul rich life: trust, gratitude and curiosity. These ingredients help to bring us back to what matters. They help to see what is actually around us and help us in getting to know it by loving it, wondering about it and believing that no matter how it looks or feels that good intentions are coming from it.

Here we sit in our seat, revelling in the scurrying motions of babies growing inside of ourselves both literally and figuratively. We can feel these parts of ourselves that started as little beings wanting to know and we can remember that the desire took us down dark hallways of pain and experience that caused us to want to hide. Our little monsters want to close the shutters and let the world be whatever it is until some random delirious decision to still be wild and foolish calls us out of hiding and back into opening to the unpredictability of experience. Through this portal, we are able to remember that all of that pain was necessary in our progress. We are then able to see that the pain is actually what makes love grow.

We start over on the backs of blurry mistakes and find ourselves in situations that allow us to see how much brighter we are when we let ourselves stay open to let in new life; to keep living and loving because of the hardship, because of the fear, because of our trembling heartbeat still yearning to survive.

This is the power of shadow — the power of holding space, of staying in humility and staying in a willingness to serve — of choosing to do the right thing even when it is the hardest choice.

We wake up to ourselves and our own potential and it’s not just for our own gratification because it takes a shit ton of work; it is more for the spreading of Hope and the perpetuation of more good in the world. It sounds corny and cheesy, but that is just coming from a bruised ego place that was abused into believing that it’s not alright to be positive — the woundedness of many generations not wanting to accept that we can find positivity through the pain, not wanting to acknowledge that there is no easy way out.

The lessons happen here: inside of a body. They are the hardest lessons you will ever have to learn. This is why we fight and cry; this is why we struggle with wanting to give up on everything.

We want to back away from our purpose — shrink unconsciously into ourselves —because our power is so immense it doesn’t feel possible that it can be housed inside of our heads or our bodies. We also give it away to others for this reason and then we get angry because we want our power back. We let ourselves stay in the shadows for so long we forgot our face needed to be seen and our story needed to be told, mistakes and truth in all.

Future generations need us to stand up and speak from our hearts, our souls, our monstrousness; so, we all feel less alone. Everyone is struggling to figure it out and everyone has something valuable to teach. Let us be allies.

With love,

Hobo Diva

Where truth comes in strange packages

I gingerly opened the door, afraid of making too much noise for Z, sleeping on the porch, and also attempting to avoid my farewells. Even saying goodnight seems too final and hard.

I assume that Z is asleep even as the shit talking party rages on inside, but she turns over in her mound of blankets as I lean down into my bed of ragamuffin delight. We exchange smiles and my brain opens up to insecurity at the chance for a genuine one-on-one interaction.

“I didn’t trim enough weed,” I say with a note of sorrow that feels almost forced except I know that I spent the day lapsing into thought patterns of indubious despair — watching as other people finished bags, wondering if they had finished more then me — wondering why I was treating this job like a casual saunter through Central Park when in reality I was being deprived of sunlight, sitting at a table looking down for 12–14 hours a day.

Z looked at me, “Are you happy?”

I slipped into my sleeping bag chuckling as I smiled into my core. This was the root of all questions, even though you could’nt really go around remembering it all the time; it was a causal visitor, peeking out just when you felt all hope was lost, when all the puzzle pieces weren’t quite fitting together.

Happiness was at the core of any lifestyle, like whether you are doing the dishes, jumping off cliffs, taking out the trash, or eating strawberries in cream, you have to find a way to be happy. Maybe I am not at that higher level of consciousness yet. I haven’t found the way to feel good on every level when I’m doing the dishes or making a meal or trimming weed. My back aches as I sit there and my hands feel close to collapse as they trace the same motions over and over again; however, at the end of the day I feel satisfied and happy somehow and this feeling has reverberated over the entire day.

I lean my head back on my pillow and laugh, “Yes, I am happy.”

“That’s all that matters,” she says, “I told myself before I came up here that I should’nt get caught up in those thoughts. They just make me work slower and really, when it comes down to it, what would you do to make yourself work faster?”

“You’re right. It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m curious though, what would you do to make yourself go faster?”

The truth is that the hours weave in and out of each other, keeping track of how productive you are being is impossible because if the insanity that monotony brings, so the brain just has a field day with whatever you allow to exist in your mind, “You’re slow. You’re wasting time. Everyone else is staying focused downward, not bothering to get lost in storytelling. Or is this the only break you’ve had in hours? Do you owe this to yourself? I wonder if other people are tired of your distraction, wondering when you will stop feeling so self-righteous as to assume that your voice matters in a sea of challenging lives that are filled with stories that involve other people in the room. You’re okay. You are loved and people want to get to know you, in fact they haven’t gotten to know you enough because you don’t open up to them. You hide away in your head cause you’re a creeper, wanting to use their stories to make you seem cooler in future social circles. I can’t believe the street value of these lives I am surrounded by. Who am I?”

I look over at Z, “I guess I would just stay focused more on my tray and I would just listen to my headphones,” as I am saying it I am already bored by the idea of such pointless productivity. There is a whole world of lives and worlds of understanding in this small room and I am on this planet to become a more productive trimmer? I am basing my life around getting faster and faster, blanking out the people around me so I can make more money? So my future is more secure? Or am I here to live my life, to inspire myself to keep creating? To get to know a group of strangers on a deeper level and to also open up about my own struggles to allow myself to heal? Each social interaction is a landmine of thoughts and perspectives, a tornado of overlapping ideas that stream through my mind faster then I can catch them.

Being a workaholic is in my blood and a fear of not doing enough is part of my monster, so I don’t have to waste time with worrying about how to be a better worker. I was raised in the United States. I was trained in the public school system. I am a hard worker.

The part that needs constant feeding is my inner soul, my need for solitude to create — the time that has to be set aside despite everything to write and start making something despite the endless amount of weed that pours out if bags into boxes into bags — numbers that add up no matter what and who cares if I could make them slightly higher if I was just in another state of mind? My 18-year-old self might be frantically working without ceasing, making as much money as possible just so when the work stops I can spend it all on everything my heart desires. That cycle was endless and I never made time for me because I didn’t value myself as a storyteller.

The night brings peace and sleep and I dream about working, making me realize that I am not using my imaginative brain enough. I wake up and start work early, but as I finish an entire tray, I stop my greedy mind right there. I have to make time for myself because nobody else is going to do it for me. My alter ego is waiting to jump out of the box. The bad ass bitch is here, waiting to jump into a story of my own design. I walk out of the room and step up to the keys. Here I am. This is happening.

(10/29/15)

In the garden of childhood poets.

I don’t even know how this is all going to go down, but there is love surrounding us and that is so special, baby.

It’s you and me against the world, baby.

We got this shit. It doesn’t even matter what happens because we are going to handle it and make it happen cause we chose each other and I’ve never felt anything so special as this.

It is like nothing I have ever known in my whole existence.

The most intense soul mate kind of energy; but, the thing is, you are going to do your own thing and I want you to be free to do that.

Your dad is a wild one too and he really does have so much love for you too.

There is a whole community that wants to raise you, baby. That must feel beautiful to be sleeping inside of me taking in all that love.

I am going to do my best to keep regulating my stress and getting more comfortable with the darkness. I have been crying so much and maybe I’ll be done by the time you’re here, but probably not.

I have been wanting to isolate but that is the last thing I need.

I need people, baby, and so do you.

There are people that will love you no matter what and that is so special you can’t even imagine. You can show up crying on their doorstep and they won’t bat an eye lash, they will just welcome you. You don’t need to trick them or anything or buy them anything, but you want to buy them everything, baby. You want to give them the world.

But the thing is.

They are happy with what they have and it makes them feel better just being around you and it makes you feel better just being around them.

And then there is the quiet, alone time and going to the forest and being around all of those huge trees — and the river — you have been liking the river, baby. We rest in those deep Waters and our emotionality is kept safe by the water.

I want to hold you in the water. I want to hold you by my heart as I stand in the water rocking side to side.

I don’t care if people freak out because we are supposed to go on so many adventures together, baby.

To be time rich is more important than anything else because it means we stay creative and magical, making the most out of what we have.

And what we have is each other, baby.

I will keep protecting you and I will keep loving you, but most importantly you are held by God, or the universe,or the great and eternal Mother and you are meant to do something on this planet that is unique to your soul.

We will keep seeking the wildness of spirit forever together.

Love,

Hodee